Dream a Little Dream of Me
by restlessrose
Summary: Hook's ongoing obsession with revenge leaves him once again on his own, without a ship, without a crew, without a hope. Each decision he makes seems to lead him down the darker path, and on to Storybrooke. Will he achieve his self-made destiny? Or will a ghost from his past show him a different way?
1. Mistakes Unheeded

_**Present: Fairyland**_

_Well, this was a fine mess._

It hadn't been too hard to sneak on board, with a majority of the crew asleep and away from their posts. And honestly, the one thing she'd been looking for in the cargo hold was seemingly small and insignificant-a small, enchanted chest. Hidden among the other treasures, she didn't think they'd find it missing.

Well, they had, and they found her along with it.

They hadn't been exactly gentle as they dragged her into the captain's cabin, their fingers alone had bitten into her skin, bruising her. Then her mouth had gotten her into trouble, when she had refused to perform a particularly crude act for the captain. She'd spat on his boots, and had received quite a blow across her mouth, enough to split her lip.

Now, she sat roped to a chair in the captain's cabin alone, eyes downcast, concealed by the curtain of tawny curls spilling from her shoulders. The dirty, tattered shirt and breeches she wore clearly belonged to a man almost twice her size, and did nothing to block the draft slipping through the cabin. This wasn't attire fit for a princess.

This wasn't a situation fit for a princess.

Then again, Aurora was hardly an ordinary princess. After all, a royal without a kingdom merely had a title...no more purpose than the word had on a piece of parchment. She'd had no choice but to adapt. And good job I'm doing, She thought bitterly. She'd stopped tugging at her restraints what felt like hours ago, long after they'd turned raw and red. Her mouth still throbbed from the blow she'd received, so she'd vowed to keep her mouth shut. She didn't exactly like the idea of bleeding over this, especially at the hands of a barbarian captain.

_Speak of the devil_, Aurora thought, as the captain of the ship himself entered the cabin with his quartermaster, and two men, their faces hidden by shadow of hood and hat. The captain might have been fearsome to some...matted blond hair, with a matching, tangled beard, and gargantuan girth. His quartermaster was a dark man, nearly topless, his accent that of an islanders.

Yes, they might have terrified many men in their wake, but Aurora had faced far worse to be intimidated by size.

The sound of the captain's boots echoed off the walls as he approached her slowly. He knelt in front of her in an attempt to get her to look at him, no doubt to try and intimidate her this way. "Are we comfortable, my little stowaway?" He asked, his tone dripping with mock-sympathy for her predicament. Aurora's nose wrinkled in distaste-his breath was foul, but still, she kept her silence.

Undeterred, the captain continued. "Now, tell me, how did you find your way on my ship?" He asked. "Many men twice your size have tried and failed, and yet here you are...no companion, no weapon...all for this little trinket here." He lifted the small chest, regarding it with new curiosity. After all, why would she have risked her life for it? What was so important inside?

Silence.

"You will speak when spoken to!" The quartermaster growled from his position behind the captain, but Aurora continued to hold her tongue. She was doing far more damage to them by not speaking. She could practically feel the captain's frown.

"Perhaps we should have a bit of fun with our guest here..." The captain said mercilessly, his hands moving along Aurora's legs toward her thighs. "She'd open her mouth well enough then, I'm sure."

On instinct, Aurora's leg kicked out, just barely missing a vital part of the captain. She might not have inflicted injury, but the warning was clear-no touching. The captain seemed to snap, and his hand flew across her mouth, sending her head snapping to the side from the blow. "You will watch your legs, my pretty, or you will watch yourself lose them." He snarled.

"You would do well to mind your manners, captain, or you will lose your life, not to mention a few vital appendages." Aurora's voice came lilting from behind her hair, soft and sweet, each word dripping with poison. She finally brought her eyes to the captain's, and despite the blood now trickling from her mouth, she could see him hesitate. Her blue eyes were little more than ice, her brow arched regally in an expression meant for dooming men to their deaths.

The captain finally recovered, reaching his hand back to strike her again. "I'll teach you a lesson, my girl." He declared, and just as his hand prepared to fly, he found himself caught. The captain's eyes looked to his wrist, the glittering metal of a hook wrapped around him. One of the hooded men held him, and he could barely make out a small smirk from beneath the shadow.

The man's tone was pure silk, no obvious emotion but amusement lacing his words."Now, captain, is that any way to treat a lady?" The man's free hand came up to brush back the hood, and in the same movement, removed his sword from its sheath.

When he released the captain's arm to step back, pressing the point of his sword to the captain's spine, there was a clear view of his dark hair, long enough to just brush against his brow, his jaw unshaven, but neat. He wore the smirk still, but his eyes, gleaming in the pale moonlight drifting from the window, were blue steel. It wouldn't take much more convincing for him to run the captain through.

"Hook." The captain snarled, glancing back at his enemy. "I might've known this was your ruse. You hardly have a habit of letting gutter rats do your work." And no sooner had he said the words than he felt another blade at his chest. When he looked forward, he found Aurora freed, chest under her arm, with his very own blade pressed against him.

"She is hardly a gutter rat, wouldn't you say?" Killian whispered. His tone was playful, but there was a clear warning to his words. Tread carefully. "You alright, princess?" He asked jovially.

"Quite well, thank you." Aurora replied, turning the regal expression on him. "Though I must say you do bide your time, don't you, Captain?"

Killian flashed her an impish sort of smile, returning his attention to the man they had cornered. "Now then, why don't we put all of this behind us, and part as gentleman, hm? I have what I came for, and you have your head. All in a day's work, I'd say."

As Killian spoke, those in the cabin, glanced toward the door, the metallic clash of swords, the roar of a battle signaled that, no, they wouldn't be leaving easily. He returned his attention to the captain in time to block a blow from his sword, shoving him away. He watched as Aurora just barely missed a brutal swing from the quartermaster's sword. She was handling herself well enough these days, but this wasn't a battle for her. "Get back to the ship!"

Aurora just managed to shove the quartermaster away already breathless. "I won't leave without you!" She cried. It was hard to manage the chest and thwart the quartermaster's blows as well.

Killian shoved himself between her and her opponent, just in time to intercept his next swing, and pushing her to the door. He caught the captain's sword with his hook, and headbutted him, before kicking the quartermaster back, sending the man back against the wall. "Go!" He snarled to her.

She hesitated another moment, but someone had to protect the chest...get it to safety. "Hurry!" Aurora cried finally, and took off through the cabin's door.

Aurora stopped short, when she moved into the direct line of a pistol, aimed straight at her.

* * *

Well, it hadn't been the best victory, but it had been a victory nonetheless, and that was all that mattered to Killian. Bodies still littered the deck, but the survivors of the crew were now corralled into the center of the deck. He wasn't one for captives, but if he disposed of -all- of them, he'd surely have a headache from Aurora.

He frowned slightly, glancing about. Where _was_ that girl? It wouldn't be like her to actually follow orders and return to the ship to wait on him. _Most likely pouting somewhere near the guns_, He thought. He didn't have time to play games with her just yet. As long as she had the chest, that was all that mattered.

It wasn't as though he didn't care, but...well, they'd had their spats recently, more than usual. Admittedly, this quest for the tiny trinket had taken a toll on everything in his life. The meals he'd skipped, the sleep he'd lost just pouring over maps and charts, determined to find this vessel and the cargo it beared. Naturally, Aurora had fussed at him, but just a little at first...until she'd just seemed to give up. She called it his obsession, and for nearly a week, they hadn't spoken.

In fact, when they'd talked in the captain's cabin not a few hours before, that was the first they'd spoken since the incident. Since she uttered those three, damnable words...he just wasn't ready to hear or return.

Shaken from his musings, he called to his first mate. "Mr. Smee!" Killian watched the captive crew in front of him, giving an almost playful smile. He had a reputation to uphold after all, and what was piracy without a little fun intimidation? "How big are our cells, Mr. Smee?" He asked, once the man had finally reached him.

"Enough for them all, if we pack them in tightly." Smee replied. He was used to the captain's need for games, and knew he'd hear about it if he didn't play around.

"Well now, that doesn't sound very comfortable at all..." Killian made a noise of disapproval.

"Hook?"

_Ah, there she is_. Killian barely glanced behind him at Aurora's voice. She could wait. He returned his attention to the crew, giving them an almost merciless smile. "I suppose we will just have to dispose of a few of you, to make more room."

"Hook..."

"Patience, dear." Killian called behind him, trying to not let his annoyance show, still not bothering to look back. Couldn't she see he was busy? They would just have to have a little chat when they returned to his cabin. "Allow them to decide amongst themselves, Mr. Smee...who will go and who will stay."

"Yes, Captain."

"Killian!"

At his name, Killian finally turned, annoyance and anger bubbling inside him. "I know you think this is important, Sweetheart, but..." He trailed off, once he caught sight of her.

There his princess stood, as ethereal and beautiful as she always had been, leaning against the railing for support. Her hand clutched at a wound on her stomach, blood trickling over her fingers, the red stain creeping along the shirt she wore. Aurora took a step, her free hand gripped the railing as she attempted to meet him on the deck, but her knees gave out, leaving her to slip down the first few steps.

"'Rora!" His legs seemed to have a mind of their own, as he found himself taking off toward her. Killian knelt beside her, pulling her into his lap, careful to keep her from being jostled too much. "It's alright, darling, it's alright. We'll just patch this up here..." He gently removed her hand from her wound, and wished to whatever being above that he hadn't. He knew, immediately, that this was bad...he couldn't patch this up. Staggered, he attempted to gather himself. He tugged off his coat, bundling it to press against the wound, attempting to staunch the blood flow. "You'll be alright love." He promised, attempting to give her his usual, charming smile. "We'll get this cleaned up, and you'll be right as rain."

Aurora gave a small moan of pain, her fingers curling into his shirt. Through the shivers, she offered him a shaky smile, and lifted a bloody hand to brush back at his hair. "That smile has never worked on me..." She said, her voice a whisper. "Th-though you certainly used i-it enough."

Her fingers trailed his cheek. She needed to talk to him, needed to say it, before the words escaped her. She forced her voice louder, trying hard not to show him what pain she was in. She could be brave, too. "You d-don't want to hear it...n-not in front of the o-others, I know..." she swallowed, tasting blood. "But this is as g-good of a time as a-any. I love you. I-I'm sorry, Killian..." she gripped his shirt earnestly.

Killian brushed her hair back, trying to not give a near-hysterical laugh. It was building, as a laugh or a cry. "Why are you apologizing to me?" He demanded, and shook his head. "Don't start this dramatic nonsense, love...we just need to get back to the ship, and we can care for you-"

"You stop telling me wh-what to do, you cad." Aurora said, settling back in his arms. She felt the blood trickle along the corner of her mouth. She had to hurry. "I-I'm sorry I didn't see it...I didn't see wh-what this meant to you." She reached down, and offered something to him.

The chest. The damnable enchanted chest. He could have chucked the bloody thing into the sea. "'Rora..." He shook his head, ready to shake her. "You think this makes it worth everything? Worth you?" He immediately regretted his harsh tone, the second she began to cough, choking. "'Rora, sweetheart..."

"Make it worth me." Aurora rasped finally. She rested her head against his arm, so tired...so tired.. "Just stay with me, a bit longer." She whispered. And her fingers loosened in his shirt, before her arm fell limp.

"Aurora?" Killian's heart stopped in his chest, clutching her tightly. "Aurora!" _No, not again...not like this..._ He thought desperately. But no matter how hard he shook, what he said, how he cursed...her eyes didn't open, and the blood still flowed.

It had happened again. Only, this time, he had no one to blame but himself.


	2. The Return

There was once a time when he'd welcomed the bright sun, let it wash over his face. When he'd loved the smell of the dewy grass and leaves. When he'd found solace near the lagoon and its caverns, the way the water echoed and crashed off the rocks. This land should be familiar to him. He'd spent enough time here in his life that he should have been able to find and know each rock, twig and stream.

But there was something very wrong here. The forests had lost their luster, as though there had not been a rain for centuries. He could see no fairies had roamed this land for quite some time, and there were no songbirds gayly chirping in the gigantic trees...only the occasional cry of a predatory bird as it hunted its next meal. The quiet in the once safe haven was deafening, eerie.

But then, Neverland had long since stopped being a sanctuary for lost souls. Souls like Killian Jones.

He'd docked his ship near the lagoon, where it had called home for so many years before, and as the mermaids had long since departed its murky depths, there would be no cause for alarm...no need for patrol of the waters. Killian had made the trek onto land alone, and quite honestly, it was one thing he needed to do alone. He had never worked well with others, and his disposition of late was leaving many things to be desired.

_"You are a conceited -cad-." She'd said, her face almost red with temper. He'd infuriated her again, but girls were fun to rile up._

_"A cad?" He'd asked. "Like a cod? A codfish?"_

Killian shook his head at the memory, almost groaning. This place was poison to him, to his mind, and held nothing but memories far too bitter to want to relive. If that was any indication, he would most likely be swamped by them, and all the more reason to get the task accomplished and hoist anchor as quickly as possible.

He drew his sword, cutting his way through vines and foliage, overgrown in the absence of human life...of life in general. Aurora might've liked the forest, in its glory days. She had been bred in the finest halls, but the way she'd interacted with nature...accepted it as she'd been forced to live under the elements...

_Aurora._ The wound was still so fresh, even after the few months it had taken for him to find the passage to Neverland. The moment they'd sent her body into the sea, he'd crawled into a bottle of rum, and hadn't left its smoky caress ever since. He needed a shave, he needed a haircut, but what he well and truly needed-truly needed-was passage, to Storybrooke. His avenues were running out. He could find no more magic beans, no fairy dust, no odd enchanted trinket that would hold the key to his destiny.

But that was when it had dawned on him...the key to his future would lie in his past, so he had to go back. Back to this godforsaken spit of land, where both magic and man had forgotten its existence, and time ravaged it greedily. It held none of the promise, none of the hope it had once held, even for him. It reminded him of a story he'd heard once...of a land long forgotten, and its sole inhabitant, searching futilely for some form of purpose.

_"They call me...well, they call me Wendy-Lady. I am their mother." _

_"Mother? You're not old! Mothers are old!"_

_"Perhaps, but mothers are also caring, and kind...they kiss your injuries and tell you stories, and sometimes-"_

_"Stories?" He'd asked. "You know stories? Tell me one." He'd sat cross-legged, waiting, perhaps a bit impatiently for her to begin._

Again, Killian had to shake himself from his memories. It was starting to suffocate him, being in this place. The longing, the need for Neverland stroked its fingers across his entire being, and he knew, he _knew_, if he lingered any more than necessary...there was a chance he wouldn't leave. He wouldn't allow himself to be trapped...not here. He began cutting at the vines and leaves with a newfound vengeance, taking out his ire on the harmless plants.

The deeper Killian moved through the forest, the more familiar the land became, as though he'd taken this path every day of his life. He saw the twin willow trees, their branches and leaves normally creating a veil, and now hung limply, browned and dried. There had once been the sound of a waterfall in the distance, and at night, the fairies and fireflies danced through the nettles, leaving behind golden, glistening paths in their wake. He pushed his way through the crackling curtain, flicking the broken leaves from his shoulder, stepping over a particularly large root, purely out of habit.

Then he saw it. The tree was dried and looked petrified from age and lack of care, but it was just as humongous as he'd always remembered it. The roots still stretched as tall and as far as the eye could see, and even though it lacked the explosion of leaves, he could still envision the green...smell it. The vines and ivy that had wrapped itself around the body still clung desperately to the gnarled bark as if it was its last chance for survival. If he listened carefully enough, it was as though he could still hear the laughter of several boys, echoing from inside the trunk.

The Lost Boys had called this home, once. They'd guarded it well, from animals, fairies, and pirates...and when the newcomers had arrived, they'd made it home for them as well. He furrowed his brows as he approached. The entry was secret...one particular gnarled nodule on near the trunk...he just had to remember which one. As he looked over the ancient bark, he noticed the scorch marks lining the windows carved into the wood, and when he finally found the nodule and opened the secret door, he remembered why.

_A particularly bad, rum-induced rampage had left him tearing through the treehouse, the first time he'd returned to Neverland. The bedding and table had been destroyed, all cloth shredded by hook and sword. The Lost Boys had departed years before, when Tinkerbell had taken them with Wendy and her brothers...to homes. To grow up. There was no one left there to destroy. No one but himself. He'd given an almost primal cry of pain and rage, and as one last insult to this place that had been so full of wonder, he'd set fire to it, willing it to burn to nothing...to take the memories with it._

Something inside of Killian shuddered. Someone he'd shut out, for such a long time...someone that continued to claw at him in an attempt to get out...to be seen once again. Gritting his teeth, he shoved a hand inside his satchel, drawing out a half-empty bottle, and began to throw it back. He drank until his throat screamed for mercy from the burn...until the soul inside was once again hidden away beneath the rum's smoky curtain. There was heartache here...everywhere he looked. He was desperate to keep it at bay. So much for not being able to feel.

Killian knelt in the ashes, using his hook to flip items over, to sift through the wreckage for the tiny thing. It would be near-impossible to find, and only those who knew about it...knew the meaning behind it, would know of its magic, would think to take it. It would be here.

As he searched, he felt the alcohol finally start its numbing work, and couldn't help but feel a small sense of relief. If only she could see him now. Her blue eyes would have had that disapproving look...her expression would've been something meant to wither even stronger men than he was. _"Killian, you will drink yourself into stupidity."_ She'd say._ "And then where would we be?"_

Well, one thing was for certain...if he'd drank more, perhaps he never would have gotten tangled with so many problems, including his lost princess.

He was jolted from his musings as he heard the faint clink of metal knocking against metal. Killian reached forward with his good hand, gathering dirt and ash in his hand, along with the bauble, testing its weight carefully in his hand.

_He tested the work she'd done on his feet-good job, sewing the shadow in place. He couldn't do a thing with it. He'd been so enraptured with himself, that he'd nearly missed her voice, soft and nervous behind him. _

_"I think...I should like to give you...a kiss." _

_He'd perked at the idea of a present, and moved swiftly to her bedside, holding out his hand expectantly. Wendy's eyebrows had furrowed in confusion._

_"Don't you know what a kiss is?" She'd asked._

_"I shall know once you give one to me." He'd replied, glancing at his hand, as though she hadn't understood where to put whatever the thing was. After a moment's deliberation, Wendy had reached in her bedside drawer, and pulled out the small silver trinket._

Killian finally opened his palm, peering dubiously down at the thimble, bent and coated with dirt and grime. His lip nearly curled at the sight of it. Once a symbol of 'true love', it was now a tainted reminder that nothing lasted. True love was the strongest magic, and a symbol of broken promises, bitter and twisted as it was, would get him on the path he'd chosen.

Unable to bear it any longer, Killian pushed himself from the floor, and began to stride toward the opening in the treehouse...only, he glanced back once more at his former home. Yes, he could almost hear the ghosts of his past, still feel the wind on his cheeks as he'd soared through the sky, over clouds and explosions of color in the world below him. But the memory faded just as quickly as it had surged forward.

Neverland wasn't the same without Peter Pan. Peter Pan _was_ Neverland, and as he'd grown darker, his soul twisted and decayed, so had the land around him. He turned and departed quickly for his ship, before the urge to set fire to the bloody island became too overwhelming to pass up.


	3. Belly of the Beast

"The men are ready, Captain."

Killian glanced over his shoulder at Smee's voice, seeing, but unseeing the man behind him. He'd been focused on the sea...on it's calm, soft waves, clean and blue. He knew better than most that the calm was only on the surface. Beneath its gentle flow, the sea was raging. In the heavens above, the clouds were billowing overhead, a deep, murky grey. A storm was building, and one that would more than likely do harsh damage to his ship.

His fingers ran lightly over the ship's moulding, restored by some of the finest craftsmen he'd been able to kidnap, when a particularly wayward cannonball ripped through the original timbers. He loved the Jolly Roger, as he imagined some might love a child...and it wouldn't be his. Not for much longer.

_"Your fascination with your ship is a bit disconcerting." She'd said, arching her brow as he moved his hands over the slick wood, marveling in its fresh, rich color. The craftsmen had only just finished their work, and already he was seeking to get out to stir up a bit of trouble on the high seas. "If you treat a woman anything like you do this hunk of wood, you must be a very popular fellow."_

_"Darling, there's only one thing in this world I treat better than my Jolly Roger, and that's a woman. And this 'hunk of wood', as you so charmingly put it, could easily outrun and outgun an armada. Have a bit of respect." He'd turned and leaned back against the railing, watching her curiously. "You chose to come with me. If you feel threatened by my love for my ship, you can still walk back onto the shore, to your charming husband and son." _

_Her eyes narrowed with challenge, and she moved over to him, boots resounding lightly on the wood, until she was almost nose-to-nose with him. "I came with you to see your so-called adventures, Captain...see new lands, and perhaps..." Her fingers hooked into his open collar, tugging him a bit closer, her lips almost brushing his...tantalizingly close. "Perhaps you could show me how to use your sword. Only one thing, though...my name is Milah. Don't stray from it."_

Killian gritted his teeth. It was starting to appear that Neverland was not the only source of harsh memories...it was his mind, dark and twisted as it was. And, unfortunately, there was no cleansing him of that. He finally turned away from the starboard side, heading down the steps toward Smee on the deck. His good hand reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing across the tiny thimble. A bauble like this wasn't any ordinary childish gift...it was a symbol. A symbol of something that had once been good and pure, and had rotted to its core. And, lucky for him, it had been on his person since the moment he'd received it as a boy, and had consistent contact with the pixie dust he'd exposed himself to for several years. There had to be some magic left to it...he only needed to bring it back to life.

"You have your orders, Smee." He murmured to his first mate, finally pulling the thimble from its place.. "The ship is under your command until such a time as I return. If anything should go awry with this damned thing, do not come for me." Killian's eyes bore into Smee's. The man would do anything for him, he knew that, he just hoped that he wouldn't be fool enough to put his life on the line for his. If this was how Captain Hook was to meet his end, well...dying would be an awfully big adventure.

"Yes, Captain." Smee said. His tone and his eyes both spoke volumes of how ridiculous he thought this all was, but he didn't dare question the Captain. Not when the man had a hair-trigger temper and rum on his breath. "Godspeed, sir."

"The Gods have nothing to do with this." Killian muttered, his eyes returning to the thimble, as if willing it to tell him exactly what needed to be done. Even Wendy, older than her years, didn't understand the power this would hold. How silly he'd been, to never consider the harsh, unfeeling world outside his very own Neverland. A world where, even surrounded by his crew, he had never felt more alone.

He brushed his thumb over the grimy surface, and could've sworn he'd heard something start to ring in his ears, like a distant bell, resounding in the wind. Killian's brow furrowed, almost mesmerized by the metal between his fingers. And then, for just the briefest moment, it glimmered gold, a triumphant sort of smile spreading over Killian's features as the gleam faded away. The magic was there. It just needed him.

The ever-watchful eyes of his crew were of little consequence to him. He must have appeared a madman, but what more could a man be when he had nothing less to lose...not even himself?

_"Now, I should like to give you a kiss..." He'd said boldly._

The words had passed through his lips before he could stop them, reliving the memory, fresh as paint. His eyes had closed, and lightly, very lightly, he brushed his lips against the small trinket. A kiss for a kiss, wasn't that all it had been?

For a moment, the world around him...around his ship had stilled. Killian's eyes opened slowly, watching the thimble, unmoving between his fingers. The relief he'd felt, when he'd seen just the glimmer of magic still left in its metallic tomb, slowly ebbed away, replaced by slow-building rage. It hadn't worked. He'd failed.

He raised his fist, ready to chuck the damned thing into the ocean and himself with it, when he felt the thimble begin to grow hot in his hand, slowly at first, but with ever-growing fire. Finally, he had to release the thing before it scorched his palm clean through, dropping it onto the ship's deck with a clatter of metal against wood. It glowed bright yellow, gleaming against the soggy ship's deck, and rolled on the uneven surface. It paused its movement, just before him, and slowly began to spin.

Killian could hear the nervous whispers of his men around him, but he pressed on, allowing the thimble to spin faster and faster, until it seemed wildly out of control. All at once, a black void spouted, like an apocalyptic whirlpool. Winds from both the storm raging overhead and the magic on deck whipped dangerously about, rocking the seemingly doomed Jolly Roger. This was it...now or never. _Almost there, 'Rora...almost..._

"Mr. Smee!" Killian's voice rang, clear and booming above the din, his bloodshot eyes near-silver as the lightning flashed behind him. His smile was wicked, gleeful and frightening, exposing a bit of the madness within. "It's been a pleasure. Write of me...nothing too dismal, thank you."

And with that, he leapt into the open mouth of the portal, and disappeared.

* * *

The waves crashed onto the shore, remnants of a storm just passing through the area...hardly anything too rough or unmanageable. The body, however...black and limp against the neutral sand, might have been cause for alarm, if only those nearby had known what had washed up onto their land.

He should have been used to the taste of saltwater, with how long he'd been connected to the sea. But combined with the taste and the rolling waves, and the everlasting spinning he'd suffered at the hands of the bloody vortex left him feeling sick as a dog, and retching the contents of his stomach onto the sand._ What a fearsome pirate you are_, he thought bitterly. Digging hand and hook into the sand, he finally managed to shove himself up onto his feet, slightly breathless as he took in his surroundings. After all, there had been no guarantee of where he'd ended up.

It was some sort of port, he decided, though the actual port and vessels docked there were hardly anything grand, though he didn't recognize their design. He found himself snorting derisively at a particularly pathetic-looking dinghy. The Surly Maid, or some such nonsense. The sailors in this realm clearly didn't take their craft seriously.

That was when Killian heard the sound of a clock tower, declaring the hour in the distance. _Bong, bong, bong_. He remembered, in his dealings with the people of Storybrooke before, there being a mention of a clock tower. The sound of it alone was hardly proof he'd made it to his destination, but he could help but feel the absolute rush one felt when stumbling upon the fruition of a life's work. This would indeed be his greatest treasure hunt.

The corner of Killian's mouth turned up into a grim, wicked smirk, his eyes holding no source of amusement. Crocodiles resided here, and he'd do well to watch his step around the wily creature's lair.

If only he wasn't trying to seek the bastard out.


End file.
